


at the end of the day

by besidemethewholedamntime



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Phone Calls, between s5-s6, searching in space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-11 05:49:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15965990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/besidemethewholedamntime/pseuds/besidemethewholedamntime
Summary: The phone rings out only twice, not even giving her a chance to change her mind, before her mother’s soft country “Hello?” comes through the speaker.Jemma feels a sob gathering in the back of her throat at the aching familiarity of a voice that she hasn’t heard in so long. “Mum?”Because mothers have a knack of making everything better. Even for just a little while. Jemma's in space trying to find Fitz and bring him home and needs someone to let her know everything's going to be alright.





	at the end of the day

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JEMMA SIMMONS/ ELIZABETH HENSTRIDGE! 
> 
> I was so going to write something but then I restarted uni and boy has everything been multiplied by one hundred and then I'm still working and so time completely got away from me but not to worry! Luckily I had this thing written months ago and I just finished it the other day (no wifi = very productive) and so I have something!
> 
> It's just some mother daughter comfort because that's sweet and because even our fearless Jemma Simmons needs her mum, even in space. (also I really miss my mum)
> 
> I hope you like it and enjoy it!

The phone rings out only twice, not even giving her a chance to change her mind, before her mother’s soft country “Hello?” comes through the speaker.

Jemma feels a sob gathering in the back of her throat at the aching familiarity of a voice that she hasn’t heard in so long. “Mum?”

“Jemma?” She can see it now: her mother standing by the phone in the hall, holding it to her ear with two hands, comically motioning for her father to turn down the television, brow furrowed in confusion. “Jemma? Is that you?”

“Yes, mum.” How funny, that she must confirm herself to her own mother. “It’s me.”

A chuckle. “Sorry, darling, it’s just… well, it’s just been a while, hasn’t it?”

“It has.” It’s been longer than she even wants to think about. “I’m sorry.”

She expects retribution. She expects her mother to chide her for not phoning in so long, for not keeping in contact more often, for not sending her pictures from her travels like she made her promise she would long ago. Jemma expects something completely different than her mother to ask, quite firmly, “What’s wrong?”

“Why does anything have to be wrong?”

“Because I’m your mum and I can tell. You’ve always been a horrible liar, Jemma. You take that from your father.”

There’s a muffled _hey, what was that for?._ It makes Jemma smile. It’s a Sunday on Earth, and her parents while have just finished their tea, and will be settling down to watch the mundane Sunday night television, the dog draped across her dad’s knees like a blanket.

Jemma needed to phone her mum, needed to hear her voice, but she doesn’t want the first thing she says to either of her parents in months to be a problem that they cannot know nor solve and so she simply smiles through her tears and manages to get out, “It’s nothing. I’m just a bit tired, is all.”

But perhaps being away for so long has made her forget just how intuitive her mother can be.

“Jemma,” she sighs, as if she’s heard it all before. “You wouldn’t have phoned just for nothing.” She lowers her voice. “You can tell me anything. You know that.”

Except she can’t. Can’t tell her that she went to space for the second time, went to the future, got enslaved by the Kree and learned of the loop of Earth’s destruction. Can’t tell her that she had a daughter in another life, learned of her by a grandson who may or may not be lost in this life. Can’t tell her that she married Fitz. Can’t tell her that she lost Fitz.

Can’t tell her the reason that she’s feeling a little lost herself.

“Mum, you know that I can’t-”

“I don’t give a damn about the rules, Jemma. _You can tell me anything._ ”

Even if she could, she would never tell her mother the whole story, could never put her through that. But she has to say something, anything, because she’s so sick of having to be silent.

“It’s Fitz.”

“Ahh.” The knowing tone makes it so much worse. “I see.”

Jemma knows she doesn’t see.

“What’s happened between the two of you?”

She makes it sound like it’s a fight. That she’s calling her mum because she needs to cry over a boy. For the first time in her entire life, she wishes that’s what it was.

“He’s gone.”

The words slip out, oh so easily, and it’s almost a relief to say them, to unburden herself from the knowledge. Because everyone here would always tell her that he isn’t _gone,_ that they’re on their way to find him, and they are, but he’s still gone.

“What? Darling, gone where?”

Her mother makes it seem like he’s just popped out to the shops to get some milk or bread. That she’s just missed him by a few minutes. That he’ll be back in time for dinner.

“He’s… he’s just… he’s gone. We can’t find him.”

It’s the truest thing she can say without actually saying it.

“Oh, Jemma.” And she wants to fall into her mother’s arms like a child again, and let her make everything okay. “What about Linda?” She asks of Fitz’s mum. “Oh, I must phone her, let her know we’re here for her.”

“ _No.”_ Even the mere mention of it makes Jemma want to crawl away to a dark room and never resurface. “No, mum, you can’t phone Linda. Please.”

There’s a distinctly unimpressed tone in her mother’s voice. “You mean she doesn’t know?”

Jemma presses a heel of her free hand to her eyes. “No, she doesn’t. And you can’t tell her,” she begs, desperately. “Please. She can’t know.”

“She deserves to know what’s happened to her son.”

“I don’t want to worry her, not if I don’t have to. Please don’t, mum.”

“Jemma-”

“Mum,” she says suddenly, quite firmly, only to try and control the swell of tears that are blocking the back of her throat. “You cannot mention it to her. You can’t. If you do…” before she says it, she hope she’ll be forgiven for the lie, “If you do tell her then I won’t be able to tell you anything again.”

A _harrumph_ sound comes from down the phone line, followed by a deep breath. Jemma imagines her mother tapping her heel, not liking the words but not wanting an argument, not when she hasn’t spoken to her daughter in so long.

“Fine, but if she phones I am not lying to her. Do you understand me?”

Jemma swallows the lump in her throat and nods redundantly. “Yes,” she manages to force out, voice barely a whisper. “I understand.” And she hopes and prays that they find Fitz before his mother decides to phone hers.

“Good.” Sensing she must have been too harsh, she tells her daughter, “You’ll find him, sweetheart. You always do.”

“That’s just it I…” Jemma pushes a sob to the back of her throat. “There’s such a real chance we won’t, mum, and I don’t know what I’d do if we can’t find him.”

“You’d carry on, is what you’d do.” It sounds like a scold, but Jemma knows it isn’t. “I know he’s your best-friend, and I know you’ve been together for a long time but you’re so strong, Jemma. So even if – and that’s a huge ‘if because you can do anything you set your mind to – you don’t manage to bring him back then you still carry on. You don’t quit, you don’t even think it. You hear me?”

Jemma laughs. It’s wet and strangled and nothing is funny but she does it anyway. “Yes, mum. I hear you.”

“I’m glad. You know, if you need us, your dad and I will always fly to wherever you are.”

She think of the stars outside the Zephyr, the endless black they just fly deeper and deeper into. No up or down or left or right. A million miles away from home. Somehow her mother makes her believe that it’s not so far away.

“I know you would,” she says softly, gripping the phone so tightly her knuckles turn white. “But we’re moving around a lot right now and…” she thinks of the expanse surrounding them, how it goes on and on for infinity “it’s a little impossible right now.”

“Nothing is impossible, Jemma. I’ve heard your dad tell you that a million times. There are things that seem impossible until they’re done. You know that better than anybody.”

“You’re right.” Jemma swipes her hand across the back of her face. “Nothing is impossible. It only feels like it is.”

“There’s my Jemma,” her mother says softly, and Jemma imagines a hand on the back of her head, cupping it softly, a thumb gently making sweeping arches in her hair. It’s been years since she’s felt it, years since she needed it from her mother, but now even thinking of it makes her homesick for a life she left behind fourteen years ago.

“You’re so strong, sweetheart. The strongest person I know.” In the background, Jemma hears her father yell a ‘ _hear, hear’._ “And the bravest. But that doesn’t mean you can’t be upset. That’s not what I’m telling you. I know you. You think being strong means you have to have a brave face and carry on in spite of everything and, darling, that’s just not what it is.”

“I can’t focus on finding Fitz if I’m crying all the time,” Jemma says defensively. “I need to keep on working.” _To stay sane. I need to work so I can work. If I stop and lie down then I’m worried I won’t ever get back up._

“Then cry while your working, for heavens’ sake. You’re a strong, capable woman, aren’t you? Multitask! You need to look after yourself and if that means punching a pillow then you have to do it. I can hear it in your voice. You’re run ragged. You need some tea and a good night’s sleep.”

Never has she longed for her mother the way she does now. Jemma has never liked being babied, being fussed over the way her mother is apt to doing. But right now she wishes she was doing it, here on the Zephyr. She’d make her some tea, and somehow it would taste good despite the recycled water. She’d tuck Jemma into bed, kiss her on the forehead and turn off the light and there would be nothing but a deep, dreamless sleep for the next eight hours.

Except it’s a lie. Her sleep is four hours unbroken at best. At worst… it’s just simply lying awake in the simulated night, wondering about what else could go wrong. She misses lying next to Fitz, putting her head on his chest and listen to his steady heartbeat as she drifts off.

“I miss him,” she admits in a tiny voice, wondering if it carries down the phone.

“I know,” her mother tells her. “But you won’t be good to anybody if you don’t rest. I’ll come and make sure you are. Tell whoever’s your boss these days that they can think again before letting you work.”

Jemma doesn’t doubt it. Once, she had asked Coulson to tell her father first about the news that she had succumbed to the Chitauri virus, on the reason that her mother would take it better if it came from him. It wasn’t to protect her mother in the way Coulson might have thought. It was, in actual fact, to protect _him_.

“That’s not necessary, mum. I’ll sleep. I promise.” Jemma allows herself a small smile. “When we find him, you can expect a visit from us. I think we’ll need to leave SHIELD for a bit.”

She expects a remark from her mother about how it’s been so long since she’s seen either of them but nothing comes and there’s only a static silence that leaves Jemma wondering if the tenuous connection has finally dropped.

Eventually, though, her mum says, “I have a story to tell you.”

“What’s it about?”

“Do you remember the night before you left for America?”

Jemma wonders where she’s going but doesn’t interrupt. She tries to remember but then finds she can’t. Any of her life pre-SHIELD is a haze.

“You cried. You cried into me and asked me what if you hated it, what if you didn’t really want to go. And what I really wanted to do was tell you that you didn’t have to, that you could stay and I would phone that Academy in the morning and tell them that you weren’t going to attend anymore. But that wasn’t what you needed. You wanted to go, I know you did. So I held you, but I told you that you had a big day tomorrow and needed to get some sleep because I’d be waking you at half six sharp.”

Jemma remembers it now. The sobbing into her mother’s side while her father had been upstairs, checking the weight of all her suitcases. _They’ll make fun of me,_ she had cried, terrified it was going to be like everywhere else. She was too young, too smart, too skinny, held too many doctorates. _I’ll be the only British person there._ She had been so sure, up until then. So clear and determined. But all of a sudden America seemed like it was the moon and she had felt so lost and lonely and very much like the sixteen-year-old that she usually forgot she was.

“It’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever done,” her mother says, and Jemma is unsure if it’s the connection or the tears in her voice that makes it hard to hear. “Telling you to go when I easily could have convinced you to stay. It was so hard, but knowing you now and who you’ve become, I know that without a doubt I’d do the whole bloody thing again.”

“My point is, darling, that if you need to go, you go. If you need to stay, you stay. Sometimes we don’t always know what’s best for us and we need somebody to push us in the right direction.”

 _The right direction…_ Jemma hopes that, in another time, she was as good to her own daughter.

“Thanks, mum. I needed that.”

“I know you did. Now, I think that’s enough nagging for one night. It’s a Sunday, after all.”

Jemma laughs, because never in her life has her mother decided she has done enough nagging. “Of course. Give my love to dad and the dog.”

“I always do. And Jemma?”

“Yes?”

“Please don’t leave it so long to phone, sweetheart. I know you’re busy saving the world and all that, but we worry about you, your dad and I, and I’m not saying a long phone call, but one more than every six months would be well appreciated.”

A guilty feeling begins to spread through her veins. She knows her mother doesn’t mean for it to make her feel so and they all knew this was the price going in but even so, nobody thought it would go like this.

“I promise I’ll try,” Jemma says, screwing up her nose to stop more tears falling than there needs to be.

“Then that’s all I can ask.” Sated, her mother sounds lighter. “You’ll find him, sweetheart. I know you will. And when he comes back, tell him to give me a phone as well, would you? There’s a lot of things I’d like to say.”

Puzzled, but not surprised, Jemma nods another redundant nod. The certainty reignites something within her. “I will tell him that when I get him back.”

_Will tell him when I get him back. When not if. When not if._

“Good. I’ll let you go now, and get ready for bed since I assume that’s where you’re going straight after I’m off the phone?”

Jemma can practically hear the raised eyebrow in her voice, see her standing with her lips pursed and arms crossed as if daring her daughter to disobey. The universe is constantly changing, she knows this, but it’s just so relieving to have some things that stay the same.

“Of course, mum.” She stifles a yawn. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Jemma.” In the background she hears her father shout _I love you as well, Jemma!_ And it makes her smile as she rings off.

Suddenly alone, although she has been all along, she looks around the room, expecting the itch to come back to her hands to check the equipment or check the med bay or check the stocks in the kitchen.

It never does.

There’s no urge there to do anything _right now_ other than the ever-present undercurrent of _find him_ that courses through her veins with her blood. There’s no itch in her hands, no restless taps of her feet. In fact, she feels rather _tired._

 _Oh,_ she thinks, as she lets her feet take her in the direction of her bunk, _mum’s good. Mum’s really good._

For once she doesn’t feel so heavy-hearted as she changes and lies down, even though it’s not even allotted night yet. The sheets are soothing against her skin, the pillow a haven for her head, and how wonderful that all it took to feel this much better was a talk with her mum.

She drifts off to the sound of the Zephyr’s engine in her ears, comforted by the sound, knowing that even when she is not awake,  something is always happening and they will find him because they deserve their happy ending and her mum said it will be so.

 _Rescue you from space just so my mum can chew your ears off about you not phoning her more often_ , she thinks, and falls asleep with a smile on her face for the first time in what feels like forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading - I really appreciate it! Please feel free to leave kudos/comments. Please feel free not to. Either way, I hope you have a lovely day!


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